


Birds

by lemonsorbae



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 00:36:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3916591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsorbae/pseuds/lemonsorbae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SPN verse, canon divergent. Dean’s just been rescued from Hell by an angel who’s making outrageous claims and staring way too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birds

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in awhile, please excuse my lack of abilities.

Ever since Dean hit topside there’s been a burning in his chest, a fluttering, just behind his breastbone that’s impossible to ignore. And sure, maybe it has something to do with him just having spent 4 months in the fiery pits of Hell, but something tells him that’s not it. This feels different. It feels... right.

 

When he learns it was an angel that rescued him and not some sketchy backdoor demon deal like he suspected, the fluttery feeling intensifies.

Said angel manifests itself in the form of a man wrapped in a tan overcoat that hangs off his frame, ill-fitted, and a crooked blue tie that looks like it may have hung straight before the guy hurtled through the air at speeds that make Dean’s stomach lurch just to think about.

And his hair’s a fucking mess.

And his eyes are huge. And seriously blue.

And he won’t quit staring.

He calls himself Castiel, and even though Dean feels kinda warm and glowy with him so near, fury ignites within Dean upon meeting him. Obviously this guy messed with the original Dean Winchester make and model, adding in his own angelic upgrades.

“What did you do to me?” They’re the first words out of Dean’s mouth, and while maybe he should be more circumspect around a creature that could very easily ream his ass, he can’t help himself. He wants answers and he wants them now.

The angel frowns at him, cants his head to the side like some kind of angelic bird. “I remade you,” he explains, the _you idiot_ left unspoken.

“Yeah, well bang up job, buddy, something ain’t right with the ticker. So I’m gonna ask you again, what did you do?” Dean pitches his voice into a growl, hoping it’s enough to sound menacing to something so great and terrible, but knowing it isn’t.

“I made no mistakes.” The angel assures him, his voice matching Dean’s in pitch and coming out twice as gravelly.

“Then why do I feel,” Dean waves his hands in front of his chest, “like I’ve got a bunch of birds trying to take flight in my chest?”

The angel is frowning again, and Dean’s only known him for all of three minutes, but the action is becoming increasingly endearing, and that’s something way too out of Dean’s league to even think about, so he doesn’t.

“You feel it too?” Castiel asks.

Dean rubs his chest, winces. “It’s all I can think about,” he grumbles.

For a beat the angel looks puzzled, the wheels almost visibly cranking in his brain before a light bulb flicks on and he takes a step closer - too close - and brushes his fingers over Dean’s shoulder. “Do you bear my mark?” He questions.

Dean’s mouth hangs open. He wants to lie, deny there’s anything there, but now that the massive hand print on his shoulder has an owner, he nods, tugs up his sleeve. “You mean this?” He asks, revealing the hand shaped burn on his arm that’s been there since he returned from Hell.

Castiel reaches out to touch the mark, eyes wide and awed, but Dean covers it up before the angel’s fingers can touch his skin. “What does it mean?” He demands.

Castiel’s eyes meet Dean’s, wide and blue and- “Soul mates.” He says.

Dean splutters, his mind reeling. “What? No. You’re an- and I’m not -” Dean feels like punching something, all the air leaving his lungs, but he digs his nails into his palms instead, sure to leave crescent moon marks in his wake, and stares daggers at the man- angel- what-the-hell-ever standing in front of him. “We’re not soul mates.” He finally bites out. Because they’re not. It’s not possible.

“Dean,” Castiel says gently, his brow creased in consternation.

“No, don’t _Dean_ me,” Dean snaps. “You and I are not on a first name basis. Hell, we’re not on an anything basis. Just because you branded me with your freaking hand print and played hide the pickle with my soul doesn’t mean we’re-” he waves his hand in the air, his cheeks burning. “Y’know, _that_.”

The angel sighs, his shoulders rising and falling in such a human gesture. “If you’d only let me show you.”

“Don’t touch me.” Dean snarls. “Just don’t-” He pinches the bridge of his nose, something icy curling around his heart, settling the birds ever so slightly. Hurt, but not his own. Goddammit. “I need a drink.” He mumbles, scrubbing a hand over his mouth.

A vee forms between the angels brows. “You’re thirsty?” he shakes his head, confused.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Dean slumps onto his bed, pressing his fingers into his forehead against a rapidly forming headache as Castiel’s emotion seeps into his mind and pairs with his own swirling questions. If Sammy finds out Dean’s got himself a holy puppy dog, he’ll never let Dean live it down.

"Your head,” Castiel says, his voice cutting through the silence shrouding them. “I can help.”

Dean looks up just as the angel’s hand comes to cup Dean’s face, something cool and pleasant flowing between them. Dean’s headache abates almost immediately and the fluttery feeling in his chest is increased tenfold.

“How did you-”

The other man’s lips quirk up into a smile and he settles gently beside Dean on the bed. “I am an angel, Dean” He points out.

Dean swallows, nods. “Right.” They grow quiet for a moment, eyes glued to one another’s, some unseen force prolific and tangible between them. “So, soul mates.” He finally says, albeit unwillingly.

“It would appear so.” Castiel confirms. “I assure you I’m as perplexed as you are.”

Dean hefts a sigh. “Okay, so if by some completely off-your-rocker crazy swing of events it is true, what does that mean?”

Castiel smooths his hands over his slacks and Dean studies the angel’s fingers, the long slender curve of them as they curl over his knees. A bit of his wrists are showing, slim, but surely powerful, and Dean yanks at the collar of his t-shirt, his heart hammering in his chest.

Fuck.

“It means we are profoundly bound, your soul to my grace.”

“Okay, so what? We take a little trip to Massachusetts, have ourselves a shotgun wedding, and- and live happily ever after?” He means to sound harsh, but he can’t actually muster up any heat behind the words. Feeling Castiel’s brief disappointment and confusion were troubling enough, Dean doesn’t think he could actually say anything to hurt the guy.

“The mating of souls isn’t about marriage, Dean, not entirely. It’s about sanctioning one another, a love so whole, so-” He stops, and Dean can feel him searching for the right word.

“Profound?” Dean offers, echoing Castiel’s earlier description of their bond.

Castiel nods. “Yes,” he says with a faint smile.

Dean clears his throat, grips his thighs. “Okay,” he says. “Why don’t we uh- Why don’t we hold off on that whole love part for awhile and deal with the rest first.”

“Alright.”

“So the birds,” Dean gestures at his chest, the steady beat of wings prominent just behind his breast bone. “That’s because of you?”

“No,” Castiel counters, his fingers skirting the sleeve of Dean’s t-shirt, never touching skin, but warm and sure atop the fabric. “It’s because of us.” The angel corrects. His gaze alights on Dean’s face once more and Dean’s breath catches in his throat as he takes in Castiel’s deep blue depths and the dark lashes that frame them. Not knowing why, Dean nods, small, and Castiel nudges up Dean’s sleeve, an unseen heat emanating from the palm of his hand.

As the angel fits his hand to cover the hand print on Dean’s shoulder, Dean’s eyes slide shut and he gasps, sparks igniting behind his eyes and something so warm, so full, so unlike anything he’s every experienced before burning in his chest. His brain clouds over with too many emotions at once; _mine_ , and _protect_ , and _beloved_ , and _right_ all bubble up within the confines of his mind, and he wonders which thoughts are his and which belong to Castiel.

It doesn’t matter, really, which thoughts belong to whom because they all resonate with him, and suddenly he needs to be closer, to feel the weight of Castiel’s body in his hands, solid, true, there.

Dean reaches out, curls his fingers around the lapels of Cas’ trench coat and drags him in. The angel’s hand still rests firmly on Dean’s shoulder, the tingle of energy pulsing between their skin.

“Cas,” Dean chokes before slotting their lips together. It feels like he’s burning from the inside out, his whole body made of molten lava. The birds in his chest are going wild, thousands of frantic wings beating in a wild attempt to fly free from his chest, reaching desperately for Castiel.

As soon as they pull away, Dean craves more. He wants to be with Cas in every way possible, learn everything there is to know about the feathery little dude. “So soul mates,” Dean mutters, tracing the shape of Cas’ lips with his eyes.

“Yes,” Castiel confirms.

Dean smiles, the patter of wings pleasant around his heart. Ten minutes ago the idea sounded wild, now, now it makes sense. Dean nods. “Awesome.”


End file.
